


A Study in Language

by Alleycatsandwolves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock - Freeform, Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alleycatsandwolves/pseuds/Alleycatsandwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John falls ill and as he slowly slips away Sherlock finds himself lost in...words</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Language

Words were fascinating things I didn’t spend much time on them, but they were interesting. For instance word disease

Two syllables. Seven letters. French in origin.

It’s a small word. An inefficient word. It doesn’t convey the way a microscopic virus can distort a body, the way it can turn beautiful skin tanned in the afghan sun to a sickly yellow with purple bruises. The way eyes can glaze over. Eyes that once looked at you filled with caring and endearment. And when I’ve done something dangerous or thoughtless without him worry, anxiety and relief it doesn’t convey how it makes it so those warm hazel eyes look right through you, like you’re not even there. And turn lips that used to caress your name gently, and exclaim beautiful phrases like “ _brilliant”_ and “ _amazing”_. It takes lips that used to let out a deep throaty chuckle that could fill up a room and formed a smile that once warmed you and turn it stone cold and still. The word was disgustingly simplistic and horribly inefficient.

 

Another interesting word is suffering.

Three syllables. Nine letters. Latin in origin

Not as inefficient, but still not enough. The word still wouldn’t capture the feeling of drowning in air. When everyone else is seeing what you’re seeing but not feeling what you’re feeling and it seems like the air that once kept you alive is forcing its way down your throat and is pressing on your organs. It also doesn’t show how you feel when you see someone else suffering either. When someone you love is writhing in pain and you can’t take it away. When they’re fighting an invisible monster and you can’t do anything about it. You try to hold them but the useless people that surround you drag you away. As if you care for your own health. As if your own health isn’t connected to the man they’re dragging you away from. No it’s still not enough

 

And then there are words that are useless. Like love and pain

As if those pointless little syllables could ever contain the feeling of care and endearment, the feeling of intertwined of souls. The idea that there’s actually someone in this world who cares for you. Not out of familial obligation or infatuation, but someone who truly knows you and the kind of person you are and they care for you in spite of it, and maybe even because of it, the feeling of knowing after so many empty years of feeling nothing at all, some little army doctor can walk into your lab and let you feel again. Let you feel compassion and let you feel some indescribable mixture of ecstasy and joy. Love is a pitiful excuse of a word.

And pain is a disgrace. No amount of words could properly describe the feeling of two intertwined souls breaking apart. When glossy eyes close and the writhing stops and any remnants of hope stop with it. The invisible monsters disappear and take everything you ever actually cared about with it. Those four letters can’t describe the weight of lost time crushing you where you stand. Or the feeling of the body you’re gripping in your arms, still warm but no longer present. And it’ll never convey the feeling of your innards breaking to pieces, shattering apart like glass… I hate words

A note:

A long time ago I fell. I wonder if when they thought I was dead if they patted you on the back too. If they said things like “he was a good man” and “it’ll be okay” I wonder if they lied to you too. I wonder if you couldn’t go home at first either or if food became tasteless for you too. I wonder if you felt naked all the time, exposed like a nerve. I wonder if you ever visited the ledge where I jumped, that’s where I am now, it was all smoke and mirrors back then, and I was still nervous to jump. I had so much to live for, but it’s surprisingly easy now. To cut through the air and know the destination really is permanent this time. John your last word was my name you whispered It to me like a secret, right before you slpped away from me. I just figured you should know john yours was mine too.


End file.
